


Cracks

by Elisexyz



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Mild Blood, Pre-Canon, Rittenhouse Agent Jessica Logan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-24 02:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19714531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: The night that Jessica was supposed to die.





	Cracks

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write some Jessica POV. so. here it is. Enjoy!  
>    
>  Oh, for the record, I tagged it canon compliant, but I am ignoring what we were shown of Wyatt and Jessica's fight in the Christmas Special. So it's canon compliant except for the Movie That Must Not Be Named (I just feel like tagging it as a canon divergence would be misleading).

In their home, tense silences have grown less and less unusual as the years passed. They generally follow a whole lot of shouting, Jessica’s chest threatening to explode in outrage and Wyatt’s cheeks so red she’d swear he’s on fire.

This time, there was still shouting, but it mostly came from her. Wyatt was too busy acting like a caveman to do much more than grunting and punching.

(She was so very tempted to show off her actual fighting abilities, instead she scrambled trying to break up the fight, feigning incompetence and hating every damn second of it.)

Jessica wants to yell at him in the car too, she wants to spit out all her frustration and disappointment – he _promised_ – and irritation at having had to smooth the angles with Jack, somehow – she remembers him fondly, they were together years ago when they were little more than kids, and they’ve stayed casual friends; their classmates used to call them ‘Double Js’, smooching kisses their way as a means to make fun of them –, but she forces herself to sit still, her lips pressed together as Wyatt drives and she only rolls down a window to not have to smell the alcohol on him.

The night is chilly, and he gives her a look that might not be too approving, but he somehow refrains from commenting.

(She isn’t sure if he is glad that his self-control has finally made an appearance.)

About a million times Jessica almost starts shouting, but she was given an order: she wasn’t to argue with Wyatt in the car during this particular night, and under no circumstances she was to get out of the vehicle. She was offered no explanation, but she’s a good soldier and she didn’t need one.

No fighting.

(Not until they are home, at least.)

She barely lets him pull into the driveway before she is out of the car, so she can have a few moments to cool down, maybe head straight to bed and lock the door from the inside so that he will have no choice but taking the couch.

That, though, would mean depriving herself of the option of letting him know just how much of an _idiot_ he is, so she rules against it.

He gets in with a wary look on his face, like he’s waiting for her to throw a plate at him – she just might –, and Jessica briefly closes her eyes upon seeing the blood and bruises on his face under proper light.

“Sit down,” she orders, curtly, deciding that she can give him a piece of her mind _after_ she has made sure that he won’t drip blood all over the house.

Wyatt obeys, sitting at the table and waiting for her to walk up to him with the medical kit so that she can clean it up, and the situation is horribly familiar. The difference between now and when Wyatt used to sneak into her house after his father got mad for one shitty reason or another is that this time Wyatt kinda jumped into it himself – formulating the thought still makes her a little sick.

She doesn’t say a word and she doesn’t look at him in the eye, not until he breaks the silence first.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he bursts out, his tone awfully defensive already. “I just—I got jealous.”

“Really?” Jessica says, her tone even. “I hadn’t noticed.”

She was told, a long time ago, that there would come a day when she’d have to stab this man in the back. At the time, the idea seemed inconceivable, and her belief that Rittenhouse always knows best quivered a little, if only in the privacy of her own thoughts. But, she reasoned, there was time, and maybe things would change.

And change they did, although not in the way she was hoping for back then: sometimes Wyatt drinks too much and his temper gets too short and he disappears for hours without warning, and Jessica gets so _angry_ at him that she can allow herself to think that, maybe, it won’t be so hard to do her duty, when the time will come.

She can just sneak him a few beers before the fact and watch as he moves farther and farther away from the man she loves, doing half of the work for her, making himself so unrecognizable that she can fully believe she is betraying half a stranger.

Nights like this, when he shows this ugly side of him, are maybe a blessing in disguise.

“Ow,” Wyatt protests, when she presses too hard against his split lip.

“Sorry,” she replies, with a sweet smile that makes it clear that it’s the emptiest apology she’s ever said. He had it coming.

Wyatt doesn’t say anything then, only eyeing her in a way that fails to be discreet but that she promptly ignores.

“Is your face it?” she eventually asks, pulling back and giving him a critical onceover – this question too is achingly familiar.

“I think so,” he mutters. “He isn’t much of a fighter.”

Jessica only glares at him at the reminder that this was pretty much all _him_ , and she finds herself torn between finally yelling at him or just storming off so that she doesn’t kill him. Her murderous expression seems to sober him up a little, enough that he gives her a guilty look, at least, and that makes evaporate some of her anger. She elects to leave him alone and postpone the pointless discussion to the morning – he’ll apologize, because by then he’ll have calmed down and he’ll have sobered up, and he’ll promise to keep himself in check; then, rinse and repeat.

“Jess?” he calls out, when she’s already out of the chair, her back on him.

She bites back a grunt of exasperation. “Yeah?” she asks, impatient to get some alone time, as she turns back to his direction.

He hesitates, pressing his lips together, his eyes darting around.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually lets out, much more sincere than the previous apology of the night.

It seems that he has sped up the process, this time.

She sighs. “I know you are,” she says, her tone softer than it perhaps should have been.

She walks away before he can start making empty promises.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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